


A Natural High

by Avice



Series: The Constant [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, First Time, Kissing, Love, M/M, Male Homosexuality, Oral Sex, POV Sherlock Holmes, Sex, Sexual Content, Virgin Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-07
Updated: 2012-06-07
Packaged: 2017-11-07 04:38:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/426990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avice/pseuds/Avice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Baskerville – John is still angry about being used as a lab rat and Sherlock finds it oddly unsettling. Proper apologies are needed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Natural High

There are certain things Sherlock will not waste time thinking about. One of them are his own past actions, as years of exercising his mind and a lucky natural disposition have made him completely rational in his behaviour and therefore questioning it is pointless. From the available information he deduces all of the possible options, assesses them rationally and chooses the correct course of action. Self-reflection is for the ordinary. 

Yet on their way back from Dartmoor he concludes he must be feeling regret. It's incomprehensible. Locking John in the lab was the only rational course of action – he needed to test his theory, he needed to test it on a strong mind. If a man has been to the battlefield and back as a doctor nonetheless, he must have seen enough to be a safe subject for testing a fear inducing drug in a controlled laboratory environment. Who would be if not him? Sherlock did the right thing. So why does he feel the urge to grab John's hand, pull him close to himself and beg, beg for forgiveness? It upsets him. And he does not get upset over his own feelings. It just doesn't happen. Sherlock tries to focus on the passing cars, doing pointless deduction exercises on their drivers’ characteristics based on the car’s condition, make, colour and so on. It bores him insufferably.

That night John retires early. He still has that look of blame about him. Sherlock is angry at him too – these blasted feelings! He has no use for them and it's John who's causing them. He almost sighs with relief as the wide shoulders and the seemingly rock-hard buttocks disappear through the door. The army sure makes them run with lasting effects.

But when John's gone up, Sherlock can only continue pacing around the living room. John must forgive him. It seems a necessity. 

Sherlock climbs the steps up carefully for once unsure what to do. John's lights are out and Sherlock opens the door quietly. John is sleeping, tightly tucked in with the sand blond hair on the pillow and the duvet rising in a calming rhythm. It is quiet. Sherlock steps inside the room, walks over to the bed and ever so gently brushes his lips against the cheek. John stirs a bit, sighs, but doesn't wake up. The sight is peaceful. At least John's not angry now. Quietly Sherlock retreats. Why wake John up just to see the reproach in his eyes. Those eyes that should look at Sherlock only with patience and understanding. 

The calm doesn't last and downstairs Sherlock grabs his violin. The brutal notes from The Rite of Spring fill the air only to be followed by Shostakovich in manic tempo. Russians know anger and confusion.  
"Christ, Sherlock. Can't you choose something a little less nerve wrecking, if you really must be playing at this ungodly hour?” John slumps down in his chair with sleepy eyes and ruffled hair. His feet are bare and the dressing gown is half-heartedly thrown over his pyjamas.  
"Yes, quite right. I'm sorry I've woken you,” Sherlock responds putting his violin down.   
John looks at him amazed.  
"Sorry...? What? I mean... you're sorry? Sherlock, what's going on?”  
"What do you mean? It is surely customary to apologize for disturbing one's” Sherlock pauses to find the right word ”...flatmate’s sleep.”  
John laughs perplexed. ”Yes, customary with some people, hardly you. But no matter. If you're done now, I'm heading back to...”   
"No, John, wait,” Sherlock cuts in as John is getting up. ”There's... there's something I've wanted to... there is...”  
"Sherlock, I'm starting to worry here. What is it?” John is clearly amused by Sherlock's uncharacteristic inability to state precisely his meaning.

Sherlock takes a deep breath as to calm himself although he can't understand why he'd be agitated. ”I apologize for using you as a... lab rat, as you so charmingly put it.”  
John straightens himself up in the chair and looks at Sherlock in serious contemplation. ”Well, that is...” for lack of a better word “...okay. Apology accepted.”  
"Excellent.” The relief in Sherlock is evident. His whole appearance seems to lighten and a faint smile passes his face.   
"Great. That means I can go now? So glad we had this little chat. At 3:30 in the morning,” John grumbles as he heads for the door. But he doesn't reach it as Sherlock blocks his route in two long strides. 

"One more thing.” Before John has any time realize what is happening, Sherlock presses his lips quickly on John's. The kiss is brief. They look deep in to each other's eyes. Sherlock tries to see, but for once his skills fail him as he is unable to focus on anything but his own heart beat and John’s thoughts remain his own. Finally Sherlock turns as to leave but this time John is quicker and takes Sherlock by the hand pulling him close to himself. Their fingers lock. John places his other hand on Sherlock's neck, gently caresses it upwards and pulls Sherlock's lips to his. Gently and patiently John's lips and tongue guide Sherlock's slowly on. 

The rush of feelings is dizzying. This, this is what they are talking about. It is almost comical to Sherlock how badly all attempts in poetry, literature, art and music have failed in describing it, and the medics, neuroscientists or other hacks haven't done any better. There have surely been centuries enough to provide a sound and accurate account of a lover's kiss. And Sherlock realizes that that's what he desperately wants: John as his lover. John's hold of his hand tightens as Sherlock starts swaying backwards unable to hold his balance in the whirl of emotions. Their lips part and Sherlock takes a couple of steadying steps.  
"Are you alright there? I... didn't mean to...” John looks worriedly at Sherlock. Sherlock’s face has lighted up: his eyes shine and a perfect smile trembles on his lips.  
"I’m great. I think I better sit down.” He doesn’t let go of John’s hand but walks them over to the sofa and sits down. Sherlock is forced to close his eyes and rest his head against the back of the seat. There is too much to process.  
"Sherlock, are you alright?” John tries to release his hand.  
"Don’t let go, John. Please, don’t let go now. There is so much to think about. I had no idea. Good god, how come I had no idea?”  
"About what?”  
"About love, John,” Sherlock states simply. “I figured, I deduced a long time ago, that it is pointless. But this. I had no idea.”

John startles with the word love. But Sherlock doesn’t have the experience to take things slowly, to not say love after a first kiss. So John holds Sherlock’s hand until he seems to relax and then leans in and kisses him again. Slowly he caresses Sherlock’s face, the back of his head and strokes his neck. Oh, how sweet, how sweet it can be. It almost hurts as the conscious mind starts slipping behind the surge of feeling. The surroundings escape him, there is only John’s body, his touch to observe and to observe even that feels so overwhelming. Too many impulses, too many reactions all over him. Sherlock pulls away sharply and shoots up. He stares at John with a look full of surprise and even shock. Nothing he has previously studied, no prior knowledge has prepared Sherlock for this. He knows the processes in his body – the elevated pulse, the blood flowing to his groin, the skin exceedingly sensitive to touch, but he doesn’t seem able to comprehend them. They make no sense. There is no logic. Of course the external stimuli and their reactions are easy to understand, but the force of emotions in him escapes all explanation. He knows it must be love, what other reason could there be? But he cannot get his head around it.  
"I must go lie down.” He marches to his room, banging the door shut and falls on to the bed. 

After a restful night of thinking while staring the ceiling Sherlock emerges in the kitchen next morning in a positively joyous mood.   
"Good morning, John. Don’t you look tired! Why on earth didn’t you go to bed last night? I thought I heard you hovering about the living room at least an hour after I’d retired. And you know you need your sleep.” John gives him a murderous look.  
"Yes, why indeed? Why would I not go sleep immediately after I just kissed the great consulting detective Sherlock Holmes in our shared living room and he ran away in near panic? What was I thinking?” He almost screams.  
Sherlock gives him a closer look. John seems very distressed.  
"But I told you why I needed to leave – I needed to stop and think, John. It was quite an overwhelming experience. I told you about this in length just now!”   
"Just now? You mean talked to the walls in your room after I’d finally ventured back upstairs! Sherlock! I was worried!” John now definitely shouts. “And I didn’t... I mean I still don’t... what I’m saying is, what was that?” he continues more calmly.  
"So I didn’t tell you?”  
"No, you did not tell me, Sherlock.” The detective looks puzzled. This is proving out to be a wholly unbalancing event. “Care to summarize now?”  
"Of course, John. I realize I owe you an explanation. I do understand that this change in our relationship does come with responsibilities on my part as well, you know. That is the norm with lovers.”  
"Stop right there”, John interrupts him. “Let’s get this clear: so we are lovers now?”  
"But of course, don’t be stupid. Both our reactions last night, not to mention everything we’ve displayed before in our relations clearly indicate that. Surely you don’t mean to tell me that kissing just anybody would cause such an influx of emotion?”

John sighs and closes his eyes tight for a minute.  
"Okay, you got me there. I do like the idea of... us,” he admits. “But are you alright? What happened last night? I assume that was your first kiss. Or kisses.”  
"It was yes. Turns out there were so many impulses that I needed some time to go through them. Now, I’ve got..”  
"No, Sherlock,” John slams the table to get Sherlock’s attention. “No, you will not dissect last night to pieces! At least I don’t want to hear it.”Sherlock looks hurt, he clearly doesn’t know what’s wrong. “Look, it’s like this. What I felt last night when we kissed... I’ve never felt anything like it in my life. And I have kissed people before,” he can’t help jabbing. “I don’t want to analyse it. It can’t be analysed. I just want to feel it.”  
"But dear John, that’s precisely what I was going to say. That it can only be felt. And I can feel it too. What it feels like does exceed logic and reason since I couldn't deduce it beforehand even though I had the facts: our congenial life together, the mutual attraction, the physical closeness... With all that data and I didn't know it before I felt it,” Sherlock does look amazed, “I still find it hard to believe, but that's how it is. And when a kiss feels like that, I would like to experience the rest,” Sherlock pauses, “if you’re open to it.” 

John takes no time in answering: “Yes, I’m open to it. How wouldn’t I be when you put it so charmingly,” John scoffs and shuts Sherlock up with a kiss. “And we’re going to take it as slowly as you need to. Your bolting last night was nearly as frightening as a ravenous beast in the moors”, he adds although the bulge in his pants pressing against Sherlock might have other ideas. 

In the next few days they continue their exploration. John takes the lead. He kisses Sherlock’s neck, tickles it with his tongue, caresses his face as Sherlock sighs with pleasure. Then Sherlock mimics John, makes him shudder by taking a playful bite of his neck. It is an insanely exciting game of follow-the-leader. They progress very slowly onwards as Sherlock needs a break every now and then. He needs to occupy his mind with something familiar that he knows how to process in order to get used to these maddening new sensations. Any puzzle, any case will do to steady him, to help him go further.

Sherlock knows John is finding it very hard to control himself. It excites him even more as he feels John’s hungry kisses on his torso, moving lower and lower and then stopping, moving to his sides and John’s hands all over his upper body as he strokes John’s head. He knows John hasn’t even helped himself during the past three days even though the temptation must be almost unbearable. It is an unspoken agreement that they must release each other when the time is right. 

"Go on then,” Sherlock moans when John’s lips finally nibble his lower abdomen. John starts opening his trousers slowly as Sherlock grunts impatiently. Time for slow is over. He needs to have John. He needs to have him now. But John is unrelenting. Who knew a zipper could be opened so slowly? John strokes Sherlock's cock over his pants and finally pulls them down as Sherlock raises his hips to ease. 

There it is. John is finally looking at his hard, throbbing cock. There's appreciation in his eyes.  
"Well, Sherlock, you know it’s been a very uncomfortable couple of days, not that I haven't enjoyed them, but I have to admit this has definitely been worth the wait.” The sight is beautiful. Sherlock in the nude ready for him almost takes his breath away. He takes Sherlock in his hand, strokes lightly and already Sherlock feels like he’s going to explode. But the past days have also been a practise in self control. He knows he can hold out just a little longer. John licks him all the way up and Sherlock bellows with delight. Then John takes him fully in his mouth and only a small suck with a lick of the tip are needed for Sherlock to lose it. 

Only much later with more experience will Sherlock find any words to describe the sensation. It is as if he is pulled into an endless vacuum of bright light and fireworks only to find complete emptiness. He is lost, there is nothing left of him except an indescribable bliss that fills all of his cells, his mind, whole of his existence.

"Alright then was it?” John is smiling and softly caressing his face, kissing it gently.  
"Not bad,” Sherlock smirks. “I’d be as bold as to say the high of all highs.”  
John laughs, “Yeah, I thought so.”  
Sherlock reaches down and takes John in his hand. He isn’t completely erect. Sherlock must’ve been out of it for a while. But a firm grip and a steady hand soon make him hard again. John falls on his back and sighs with pleasure as Sherlock touches him. 

"You know, Sherlock,” he manages to moan. “You don’t have to if...” But he isn’t able to finish the sentence before he already feels Sherlock’s lips on his cock and the curious tongue that seems to be everywhere, going over his cock, learning it, tasting it. Sherlock slips it in his mouth, that warm, wet, soft cavern, and starts sucking him as he’d been doing it his whole life. “Christ Sherlock, where did you learn that?” John manages to mumble in ecstasy. Sherlock pauses a minute to answer but doesn’t release his hand from John’s cock. “The internet, obviously.” And continues with the most amazing blow job John has ever experienced. It doesn’t take him long to come. The build up from all their playing and Sherlock’s incredible skill send him over with a loud cry of pleasure. 

They rest holding hands. Sherlock’s looking at the ceiling with bright eyes and John’s looking at him. He reaches over and traces a finger over Sherlock’s face. So beautiful. So mysterious. Whatever goes on behind those eyes is a complete enigma to John. Sherlock seems to read him, really, like an open book. How clichéd, how true.


End file.
